The Sun's Dark Secret
by desist
Summary: 1943, New York, New York. The city is ruled from the shadows by mysterious creatures, and alone stands a Dark Prince. A tale about people who never were supposed to meet, nor fall in love. Urban fantasy,yaoi, het. SmoAce, ZoSan, LuNam, etc.
1. Chapter 1

_There was a boy...  
A very strange enchanted boy.  
They say he wandered very far, very far  
Over land and sea_

- Nature Boy

_**The Sun's dark Secret**_

_Constantly staying in the shadows and constantly keeping his surrounding surveyed, he stalked through the midnight alley on silent paws. Few were out of the streets at this hour. Either, you had already gone home, or you would have found a cozy spot in your favourite bar, ordering in yet another drink. The town was so silent, and still filled with life. Sitting on the roof just outside, his tail wagged forth and back as in slow motion. His nose was met by the smell of cigarettes. He would never appreciate the stink, but the distinctive smell still meant one thing to him: home.  
_

_DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun_

The first thing he had done after arriving to New York was buying a trench coat, beige with a belt, just like the one Humphrey Bogart had worn in _Casablanca_. He had a hat already, not the same fedora model as his movie idol, but his old cowboy hat was too precious to him to part from.

The city had been hard for him to take in the first days, and it had almost been as if the big buildings had prevented him from breathing properly. It could have been all the cigarette smoke or the exhaust from the many cars, but Smoker was convinced that it was the narrow streets, the all too tall buildings and the lack of big fields that had caused it.

When he first had gotten the invitation to move to the "big apple" it had been a chance to see the world. He had nobody at home, no wife and no children. His mother had been pesting him about grandchildren since the day he turned twenty, but he had kept himself happy and her unhappy. He lived for his work, and whatever revolved around it. He didn't want a wife to be there and take the time his work needed. So when his boss had asked him if he wanted to be transferred to the department in New York, he had said good bye to his mother and packed his bags quicker than necessary.

He walked with heavy steps down the grey street. The department was a few blocks down the road but the damp weather somehow made the short way unbearable. In his mind, Smoker roamed the familiar Texas fields, and even if the air was polluted, if he closed his eyes, he could picture the scenery.

Taking a step out from the pavement, he felt the wind of a car passing him close by. The honk the car gave away created a soft ringing in his ears as he entered through the small iron door. There was no sign above it except a small emblem, not bigger than a square decimeter, depicting the American Stripes on a shield with a golden sun. The sun had a face, the icon of an old Inca good. It was carved into the wall, only visible for those who knew it was there.

Inside of the door, there was a dark corridor. Turning the lamp switch on and off, Smoker grumbled as the light didn't switch on, leaving the hall way in darkness. Still, he wasn't surprised as the department he was entering was not happy to display their business.

Keeping a hand on the old brick wall so he wouldn't fall over in the dark, Smoker advanced. After a turn in the hallway he encountered a door and heard soft voices from the other side of it. A knock on the door made those voices aware that he was there. The light that hit him in the face as the door was opened him turned him blind for half a second and he had to turn his head away and blink several times before he could see properly again.

The room was filled with smoke and Smoker erupted a violent coughing as he entered, his eyes filled with damp tears.

"Don't you have any fan or something in here?", was his opening phrase, looking around in the big room. Seven men looked up at him, everybody in white shirts tucked into dress pants. A few of them had their police badges fastened on their breast pockets, and all of them had a leather holster in their belts. The one who had opened the door for him aimed a small gun at his temple. Sighing, Smoker raised his hands towards the roof.

Spread onto the round table in the middle of the room was a big map of the inner town with several sketched markings and circles made by one of the men who stood leaning over the map. Everybody's eyes were fixed on the newly arrived man, their bodies tense. Two of the men moved and placed themselves in front of the table, making Smoker unable to see the map's markings. They were obviously very careful about who saw what, and Smoker knew why.

The tallest of the men separated from the crowd and stood before Smoker.

"Name.", was his simple greeting from what Smoker assumed was his new boss. The other men looked over his shoulder to see what for a man who was interrupting their work.

"I am William Smoker from Dallas Police Department, the Facies Commutabilis division. Check my pocket for ID."

The gun stayed put against his temple, as the tall man reached into his pocket and grabbed the grey haired man's wallet. Grunting, the man flipped the ID opened and held it up towards the lamp to take a careful look at the emblem stamped on Smoker's police license, the same mark that was carved into the stone on the wall outside of the local.

Tossing it back at Smoker, the tall man turned his back against the newcomer. Smoker himself hesitated a millisecond before he snatched his arms down and caught the ID. The pistol aimed at his head was removed and tucked back into the guard's holster. Still, the man's eyes never left Smoker.

"I am Sengoku, your boss. Remember that, _Smoker._", the tall man said and talked over to the big map. His index finger moved across the various markings the men had drawn on the paper.

"Apparently, you've been called here from what ever dirt hole you came from to help us." It wasn't hard to understand that this Sengoku liked the power that came with his profession, and Smoker couldn't do anything but nod with his teeth clenched.

"I've been informed that you have started the hunt for the being that is nicknamed 'Dark prince'... _Sir_...", he added with a bitter tune. "I watched the execution of the so called 'King'. I never knew he had a son."

"Neither did we, until a while ago.", a man from the group around the map table said, owning himself a vicious glare from Sengoku. Immediately, the man became a little paler. A small note started to form in Smokers mind: _Never Upset Sengoku._

"He has, and he is now in his early twenties.", a tall, freckled redhead continued. "That means that he was never any real threat until recently, but if he decides to go all out, we have problems. This kid has a real power. I am not taking about rabbits, foxes, or even bears. There's a real reason behind his name.", the redhead said, and looked over his shoulder, as if a mysterious creature would appear out of nowhere.

"And that being?", Smoker nudged him with a slight hint of impatience. He threw a look at his new boss, but the man had returned to studying the big map, seemingly ignoring the two of them for the moment.

"The Black Devil.", the redhead whispered, and gestured Smoker to follow him.

"I am Ian Harris", the redhead said and reached his hand out for Smoker to shake it.

The two of them walked away from the group, and into an even darker room. The other man stopped before him, and opened a drawer from a wooden closet and handed Smoker a photo. The grey haired man's eye widened slightly at the sight of the sight of a body not really resembling a body any more.

"We told the normal police that it was knife wounds, but you see those 'cuts'.", Ian said, and pointed at the bloody lines along some part of the poor soul's body.

"They're from claws, _claws_ man. And it's not a back yard kitty we are talking about here." He shook his head and swallowed, once again looking over his shoulder.

"What... What the hell happened?", Smoker breathed.

"It was my partner, Murph. Something with really big claws killed him. And ate him." The redhead's voice shivered, as did the picture in his hands. Looking at the moving picture, Smoker noticed something in the shadows behind a corner.

"What's...", he asked, focusing his index finger on the shade.

"I did tell you; it's the Black Devil, The Dark Prince."

Looking out towards the group of men, Ian leaned forward and started to talk in a soft, but steadier voice.

"Those out there, Sengoku included, is all in for money and power. If your looking for justice or any solution to this...", he said and put the photo back in the drawer. "you'll have to do it yourself... partner."

_DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun_

After several hours with Ian, Sengoku and his men, Smoker finally stepped out on the street and closed the door. The grey haired man breathed in air, and thought for himself how strange it was; this very morning, he had problems breathing in what he considered dirty air, but now, after a whole day inside a smoke filled room, he rather enjoyed it.

Looking back at the door, Smoker shook his head and pulled up the collar of his coat. The sun had hid herself behind a couple of grey clouds, and it didn't look as if she was going to come back for a while.

'New York, New York' indeed, he thought for himself as he walked down the street without a specific goal. He didn't want to go back to the apartment yet; there was too much time to kill before he could return to his bed, and Sengoku had told him to stay away from the official police force. Looking at his situation, Smoker found that he only had one valid opinion. The question now was where the hell he could find a decent bar.

"Portgas!" The blond bartender scowled at the black haired kid who sat in the far corner of the room. Sanji stood leaning against the door post into the storage room, and looked furiously at the grinning boy hiding under the brim of his hat. He knew very well what he had done, and he knew that Sanji knew as well. He only called him Portgas when he was mad.

"You've been sneaking in my food supplies again! Stop stealing my food, or I'll kick you out for real this time." Lighting his cigarette, Sanji walked over to the boy and crouched down beside him. Dragging a deep breath from the cigarette, Sanji's index finger flipped up the brim of Ace's hat and exhaled the smoke into the tanned face.

Immediately, Ace's hands flew up to cover his nose, and small tears threatened to break through the corner of his eyes. The boy grunted and tried to dry of the smoke from his exposed nose with his dirty sleeve.

"Damn it, Sanji!", he whined. "You know I hate that! Gah!"

Smirking around his cigarette, Sanji took another drag of it. He walked over to the counter again and opened a cupboard on the inside of the bar. Ace continued to sneeze, still trying to get rid of the awful smell, but looked up at his so called boss with curious eyes.

Sanji finished rummaging around among his bottles and returned to his well-polished counter with a equally shining bottle made of crystal.

"If you want me to stop, then stop stealing my food. You know that I'll give you anything to eat if you just _ask_ me!", Sanji sighed, and began pouring the liquid into a shallow glass on a foot, made from the same material as the bottle. It was one of the few crystal glasses still unbroken in_ Toujours Bleu. _Thinking for a second, he dived back down to his cupboards and returned with a steel mixing glass, shaking it in the air.

"And I know that my food tastes better cooked than raw, even for a glutton like you, so why the hell do you steal it? You selling it?", Sanji muttered as he poured a white liquid from the mixer and blended it all with a long spoon and pushed the glass with liquor over to the black haired boy.

"No.", he answered and took a swallow of the drink. His face twitched slightly at the strong alcohol, but there was also something else in his grimace. He took another mouthful, and you could see the boy's brain progress. Hoovering over the glass, he sniffed the drink.

"What did you...?", he asked with a doubtful glance at his friend.

"Whiskey, a little sugar, some cream. Ah, and catnip.", was the answer he got, accompanied by a smirk.

Ace's face twitched slightly again, and he had problems controlling himself. Jumping down from the high bar chair, he waved his index finger at Sanji.

"I am gonna get back at you so hard for this, _sir._", he laughed. The whole sight wasn't as threatening as it was amusing. Sanji's cigarette curled upwards along with his mouth, and he only shook his head. Ace was sure a handful, but the kid was unique, and in more than one way.

Suddenly, the bell above the front door indicated that someone was about to enter the bar. Ace swung his head around, looking at the stair leading down to their basement bar with big eyes, as the catnip slowly starting to take effect.

Sanji slapped him on his shoulder, sending a sharp remark that he better be serious if it was a customer. The blond stretched his back and straightened his black tie. Just before the inner door he threw a last warning glance at Ace, all too well remembering about his earlier remark at getting back at him for the catnip. They never had any customers this early, and he cursed slightly under his breath for his bad timing for the prank.

The door opened and a broad shouldered man with grey hair entered. Despite his hair colour, it was clear that he wasn't old. The man looked around, as if searching the bar for something special, but finally rested his eyes on Ace. As with almost every new customer, the man seemed have problem comprehending that the tanned, black haired boy was welcome in the bar. At least this one didn't shout something along the lines off '_the devil will eat your heart out for allowing the black devils to drink in a white bar_'. Sanji kind of had enough of that kind of people.

"Welcome to the _Toujours Bleu_, dear sir. I am Sanji Black, the owner of this bar. What drink to I have the honor to serve you?", Sanji asked the man as he sat down two chairs away from Ace. The smile was back on his lips. They really needed every customer they could get.

"Normally, I'd say a beer, but I don't know what you people drink here in the city.", the man mumbled slightly awkward. Sanji did nothing but smile, nodding understanding.

"First time here in New York?", he started the conversation, as he took out a new mixer from the cupboards. With swift hands he picked a bottle of Canadian whisky, and poured it into the steel shaker, keeping an eye both on the liquor and on the man on the other side of the counter.

"First time anywhere.", the man answered, drawing circles on the counter. Looking at him, it seemed as if the man had a frown glued onto his forehead; it just wouldn't go away.

Sanji took out a glass, the classic clean cut cocktail model, and mixed the whisky with some of his favorite bitter, pouring it from a small bottle directly imported from Trinidad and Tobago. Lastly, the bartender added just a mouthful of Vermouth and a cherry for a sweeter flavor.

"Then you'll have to try this one.", the blond smiled and pushed the red cocktail over towards the waiting man. Said man looked at the drink with hesitation. Even if he hadn't told Sanji he was from out of town, he could easily see that the hunk was used to nothing but beer and straight alcohol.

Carefully the man sipped on the drink, and as he swallowed the liquid, the frown disappeared from his face. Removing the glass from his mouth, he took a careful look at the drink, and then taking another mouthful, giving it a real swirl around in his mouth, letting it touch each and every part of his tongue.

"It's good", the man stated. "You made this?", the man asked, and nodded at his bartender. Sanji shook his head.

"It's a classic in this city, called _Manhattan, _made from top class whisky from our dear neighbor country. It has already become a classic, created by a mysterious bartender in Manhattan here in New York. Nobody knows who he is, but his last name, but he is still one of New York's most famous bartenders. This drink is also not just a famous must-drink, but it rests close to my heart as the mysterious bartender is my namesake, _Black_."

Sanji finished the small history lesson, and put the cap back his precious whisky, putting it back on the shelf behind him.

"You sure know your things." The blond wasn't sure if he spotted a slight hint that the man was impressed.

"I wouldn't be a bartender, especially not a bartender in New York, if I didn't know about the _Manhattan_. But, nevertheless; thank you, sir."

Sweeping the counter, Sanji watched the man finish his cocktail. He threw a glance at Ace, and startled when he saw the boy staring straight at the customer. The raven's nose twitched slightly, and it looked like he was trying to lean closer. On top of everything, he had drooled on the bar.

"Portgas!", Sanji said, half knowing, half hoping that the bloody kid's reflexes would do their job and snap him out of his state. The boy did jump a little, but then a fearsome grin started to spread on his face. It wasn't fearsome as in scary-film-late-at-night-scary, but more Ace-is-going-to-do-something-really-bad-scary. Often, the second kind was way worse than the first.

The gray haired man put his glass back on the counter, ignoring the Latino boy, but instead looking over at the part of the room that looked like it was under construction, not fitting into the image of the bar at all.

"Uh, one more of these, please.", he said, pointing in the direction of the glass, eyes fixed on the demolished part of the room. "What happened there?"

Sanji followed the man's line of sight, and for a second, his face lost it posture.

"It's a long story.", he sighed.

"I've got time, bartender, and I am already having another drink. Isn't it the bartender's job to have a conversation with their clients?" A faint smile was tugging at the corner of the man's mouth.

"Very well... Ace, out." The boy had once again started drooling, and the catnip had started to get more effect as he was starting to play around with his glass, knowing that Sanji would have his ass if he broke yet another one.

"Aww, just when it was getting exciting!", Ace whined. "You know that me acting out the scenes improves your story telling!"

One look from Sanji, made him look down at the counter and mutter a soft: "Okay boss." The raven left his seat and walked out, his walk accompanied with small leaps and a slammed door.

Sanji smiled as he watched the boy leave the bar. When the door closed behind his little refugee, he turned towards the customer, noticing that he also had his gaze on the peculiar boy.

"Now, you wanted another _Manhattan_?"

_DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun__DarkSun_

_He breathed in the evening air, with all it's nasty smells. He wasn't born for this kind of environment, but still, he doubted that he would survive out in the jungle, or on the open prairie. He had grown accustomed to this dirty city, and at some point, he had started to love it._

_Walking away from the main street where the _Toujours Bleu_ was located, the sought peace in the heart of the city, in the alleys that was dark even during the day._

_His tail wagged slowly, his paws found their way with steady steps. The only thing ruining his appearance was the nose that still twitched slightly from the catnip._

* * *

_A/N: Happy birthday, my sweet Choppey-chan (AKA Green-san)! Here is your gift~_

_**To: Choppey-chan … From: Lion-tan … Wishing you a Happy Birthday! Grattis på Födelsedagen!**_

_This was originally a rip-off of Wrong side, set in modern day, but with the help of Choppey-chan, it transformed into this story. She later told me she had brainwashed me into writing urban fantasy. XD So, this gift is truly deserved as I brutally used her as a bouncer throughout this whole story._

_And I've tried to research everything with drinks, New York, 1943, the war, a certain mythology and well, everything else, but I'm not perfect. So if you see something that's just totally wrong, don't hesitate to tell me! After all, this was over sixty years ago, and halfway around the world for me. Unfortunately, I have never been in New York, or any other part of the USA. _

_Finally, I would like to make it clear that all opinions in this belongs to the characters and not me. I hate racism, homophobia and discrimination, __BUT this is set in 1943, a time of racism and when sodomy still was forbidden by law. Once again; these are not my own ideas of how the world ought to be. _

_Now, please send me with a review, with you passionate opinion! _


	2. Chapter 2

_It's hard to believe that there's nobody out there  
It's hard to believe that I'm all alone__  
At least I have her love,  
The city; She loves me  
Lonely as I am, Together we cry _

- Under The Bridge

_**The Sun**__**'s **__**Dark Secret**_

_If your name was Sanji Black, the year 1941 wasn__'t __such a good one to live in. He had just started up a bar in the outside of the central New York, but had already begun a twist for the property with the government, and Sanji refused to give up what land his hard work had given him. The _Toujours Bleu_ was his dream, and damn it if he would give up on it._

_

* * *

_

A few customers had found their way to the small bar located in a basement under an apartment complex built in the 1920s, and Sanji's hips swung to the pace of the music playing from an old gramophone. With one hand he dried of the counter and with the other, he held his cigarette as he took yet another long drag on it, blowing out smoke through his mouth. The song was a good one, and his lips mimicked the tunes coming from the old machine, singing along with a soft voice.

The door creaked as it was opened when yet another customer found his or hers way to the bar, and Sanji made a mental note to oil the hinges in a near future to avoid the disturbing sound.

He didn't know what it was about the man who had just entered, but he was sure as hell that he didn't like it. It was as if the short man had a poisonous aura emitting from his body. Dark circles surrounded his small eyes hidden under a untidy, wavy bush of hair, colored somewhere between gray and purple. Even the hair looked venomous. A small shiver travelled up along Sanji's spine, but he ignored it and plastered a smile to his face.

"Welcome to the Toujours Bleu, my lord.", he smiled, and showed with a simple gesture to a wooden stool in front of the bar disk. "Could I get something for you to drink?"

Not waiting for an answer, Sanji looked over at his shelf with glasses in all models and shapes, ready to grab the one designated for the drink that was supposed to be ordered.

"No.", the man said, his voice slow as if it was dragged along on the floor when he spoke. Nevertheless, he took a seat at the counter.

Sanji, slightly startled by the answer, looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Then what can I get you? I am sorry to say that we don't serve any food here."

"Your bar.", the man replied in the same slow tune.

"Excuse me, what?", Sanji uttered, spinning around. Looking at the man, he wondered if he had heard right. He must have misheard him, but Sanji really thought he had heard the man ask for his precious bar.

"You hear bad, brat?", the man spat out, stretching his back to the fullest length so he was looking down on Sanji, despite his short statue. "I want your bar. And I want you out of it."

A smug smile creeped up his face, as he slammed down a white document written on machine. A strange seal Sanji had never seen before was printed on the letter head. Sending a quick glance to the other customers in the bar, Sanji leaned back to one of his cupboards and returned with a pair of reading glasses. Putting them on the bridge of his nose, the blond rested his elbows on the counter and turned the paper so he could read what it said.

The seal was accompanied with a equally strange title of some kind of department he guessed. _ Facies Commutabilis, Cipher Pol Novem. _It was either Latin or gibberish, but a feeling in his stomach said that this document was ill tidings. His eyes traveled downwards, reading the printed letters, row for row.

After a quick read through, Sanji sighed. The man sure meant trouble, but it could have been so much worse. Sending a quick thanks to his dead father for rambling all about his work as a lawyer, Sanji removed the glasses from his nose, and took a better look at the man before him.

Apparently, the unpleasant man was the highest command of some kind of obscure subdivision for a department Sanji didn't really understand what they did, but he knew as much as that the man impossibly could claim his bar. At least, not without that document being sent with his signature to somebody from the actual government. However, seeing that Sanji had no idea what so ever what this organization was about, and what they was capable of doing, he silently put his glasses away and nodded towards the man.

"What if I refuse? I brought this bar legally, and I am not breaking any laws, so I have problem seeing why I should give it up to you, _my dear customer. _Now, please order a drink, or I will have to ask you to leave. You're taking up space for my other patrons.", Sanji spat out, but with a smile on his face. The man however, his face boiled with anger. It was obvious that he was used to people following his orders.

"You don't know who I am!", the man hissed, but Sanji raised a warning finger in the air. The blond removed the cigarette butt from his lips and blew a breath of smoke in the man's face. Couching, the purple haired man glared at the bartender.

"I don't care if you're Jesus Christ himself, nobody takes my bar from me.", Sanji stated and took a new cigarette from his breast pocket. After lighting it, he took the document from the counter between his thumb and his index finger, and threw a last glance at it before he lit the lighter with a smooth movement of his wrist, and set the bottom corner of the paper on fire. Without a single emotion displayed in his face, he watched it burn. When the flames almost licked his fingers, he threw the remains in the sink.

Stuttering unhearable words, the man pointed a shaking finger at Sanji and at his precious document now reduced to ashes. The bartender quirked an eyebrow, looking curiously at the man. The other customers had started to watch the little play between the two of them, some of them shifting in their seats. The _Toujours Bleu_ might not have many patrons, but the few Sanji had was loyal to him.

Looking around, the man seemed to shrink a few centimetres. With his finger still pointing shakingly at Sanji's face, he whispered with his low, harsh voice:

"This is not the last you'll see of me, Mr. Black. And believe me, you'll regret that you ever, ever humiliated Spandam Hockley!"

Slowly backing out towards the door, he looked around at the amused faces around him, and at the blond bartender now sporting a big grin.

* * *

_"And that was two years ago._ And as you can see, they kept their promise." Sanji nodded over at the destructed area of the bar. "Apparently, he didn't have such strong connections with the government as he would like to have, but what he does have is a couple of strong brutes. They come and go, and destroy."

"Wow, seems like an awful lot of problems", the grey haired man said, nodding over his glass. "You haven't called the police?"

The blond sighed. Each time he told this story, he got the same reaction. As if it was recorded, he answered:

"Oh, I've tried, but they just pretend it never happened. Apparently, this Spandam guy isn't someone you talk about. So, the police isn't really on my side. Plus; they don't like me hiring...", looking up at the roof, he made a short art pause. "_coloured people_."

As if on cue, the man looked over at the door where Ace had disappeared a while ago. Once again his face was unreadable with the scowl back in place.

"So you treat him... 'm guessing you won't sack him?", the man mumbled. He wasn't too used to that kind of _persons _in Texas, least them being treated equally. The bartender seemed to be quite a strange fellow.

"He owes me his life, so it's his choice to stay.", Sanji muttered, lighting a cigarette. Not saying anything, the grey haired man nodded and rose up from his chair. Taking out a leather wallet from his back pocket, he asked for the check.

Accepting the money, Sanji smiled at him.

"It's always nice to meet new customers. If you enjoyed it here at the _Toujours Bleu _tonight, do not hesitate to stop by once more, Mr...?"

"Smoker. William Smoker. And who knows? I might very well come here again. Your place intrigues me, Mr. Bartender.", Smoker said, and nodded towards the blond before he closed the door behind himself.

Sanji took a long drag on his cigarette and looked at the front door. The conversation with Smoker had woken memories from long ago. Smiling in his mind, he looked back to one of the most peculiar nights in his life. However, that was not a story fit to be told over the bar counter. It wasn't a story to be told anywhere really, unless you had a strong desire to end up in a mental hospital.

* * *

"The police hate me, the government despises me and the ladies ignore me...", Sanji sighed as he stood behind the counter, polishing the last couples of glasses from the clean-up after closing hour. His cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, and it flipped up and down as he talked.

"I bet that you are most unhappy for the ladies, Sanji Usopp said with a wink of his eye as he sweeped the floor with his faithful broom. Having grown up with his blond friend, Usopp knew him all too well.

"If I would have cared about the officials, you wouldn't be here to complain...", Sanji said and turned around to put the glasses onto the hanging shelf. Finishing that job, he threw a glance at the burnt paper still resting in his sink. Sighing, he removed the destroyed document with a dish rag and threw it into the garbage.

"But of course", he continued. "It wouldn't hurt with one more on the staff, or at least a couple of more customers. I'm not really comfortable with that agent from that what-ever organization." Drawing a hand through his hair he shook his head and muttered: "I've had enough problems to last a life time, without some jerk trying to take my bar."

Drying of his hands on the waist apron, he bent forward under the counter and dragged out the bin filled with napkins, receipts and a broken glass or two. The glasses had not been broken by him, but by one of the heavy drinking costumers, but as he was one of the bar's few regulars, Sanji had forgiven him.

The blonde bartender tied the brown paper bag together with the cord attached to the bag for mentioned purpose. Behind the counter, and on the right hand side of all the shelves holding up glasses and rows with bottled liquor, there was a door, painted in the same light beige colour as the walls surrounding them.

"I'm just dropping of the garbage; keep a eye on the door, would ya?", he called backwards as he held the bag out from his body to avoid smelling stains.

The outside was several degrees colder than inside of the bar and the short hair on Sanji's arms rose under his shirt. Looking up around the corner fast, he scouted after the kind of persons that used to hang around in the alleys of the city late at night, but as he didn't notice any one he closed the door behind him and climbed up the narrow stairs, careful not to bump into the bag.

Whistling, he walked the short distance to the garbage container and tossed the bag on top of the load that almost created a small mountain in the container. Sanji brushed his hands together to get rid of what ever dirt from his hands, and spun around to walk back into the bar. However, when he did turn around, he came to face something very surprising, and quite fearsome to be honest.

Hidden in the shadows of the alley, the biggest cat Sanji had ever seen stalked forward, towards him. It was certainly not the kind of cat you were supposed to meet in New York City, except in the Zoo. Silently, Sanji wondered what the hell it was. A panther? Jaguar? It was jet black, and its teeth sparkled pure white in the moonlight. Swallowing down, Sanji tried to back away, but after only a few steps, his lower back hit the frame of the garbage container.

The brown eyes captured Sanji's blue ones as the big cat slowly walked forward. Looking more carefully at it, Sanji saw that the legs shook slightly and ribs poked out from the starved body. It that animal had escaped from the New York Zoo, it must have been days ago. Looking back in time, the bartender tried to remember if he had heard the paper boys shout anything about it, but his mind came to a blank.

The animal was a mere meter or two away from him now, crouching together to use its last powers to jump its prey. Sanji bit his lip and, even before the keen cat had time to prevent its jump, he sprung forward. When the two of them met mid-air, the jaguar opened his jaw, showing of a set of sharp teeth, ready to sink into the soft skin of the bartender. Said bartender had however no wish to become a midnight snack, so he spun around and delivered a shoe clad foot to the cat's head. The force from the kick sent the weakened animal flying into the garbage container, causing some of the bags to fall down on the now still body.

Taking a deep breath, Sanji rested his forehead in his palm. Being attacked in an alley had happened before, it was central New York for God's sake! But it had never been a freaking jaguar on the other side! He cursed the zoo keepers under his breath, for letting an obviously dangerous and starved animal to escape. After a second of thought, he massaged his temple. He had been to the New York Zoos, both the Bronx and the Central park Zoo. Neither of them had a jaguar in their collection. Had the cat escaped from some sort of private collector?

At least the cat seemed to have stopped moving. The bags of garbage resting over the black body covered the figure, but it seemed to keep still. Carefully, Sanji tiptoed to it, and kicked away most of the bags covering the jaguar, ready to jump backwards if it was some kind of dirty trick from the cat's side.

Compared to what Sanji saw lying before him on the ground, the fact that a jaguar had jumped him in the middle of the night in central New York was as surprising as the sun setting in the west.

It was a boy. A black haired, boy with freckles and dirt all over his face. He was as thin as the flagstaffs outside the Empire Stare Building, with ribs poking out under the worn, and equally worn under shirt. Except for the tank top, a old pair of denim dungaree pants and a pair of working boots that looked too big for him, the kid had nothing else.

Boys and girls living on the street wasn't something unusual, but where the hell did this one come from? And, where was the jaguar? Looking backwards and around the other side of the garbage container, Sanji saw nothing of it. He took a step closer to the unconscious kid and squat down beside him. With a slightly shaking hand, he lifted the wavy bangs from the freckled face. On his left eye, a black eye started to bruise up, and the area around the eye was getting darker. A small gash across his eyebrow had started to bleed a little, finishing the touch.

Sanji sat down on the ground, as confused as can be. There had been a freaking jaguar which had tried to attack him. When he had kicked him, then suddenly a boy about his own age was lying on the ground with the wounds from his kick. Something was very, very wrong. The kid was still breathing, but the blond guessed that he would last long without any food. If someone knew about the hell of starvation, it was Sanji.

He sighed, and leaned in to pick the wounded kid up in his arms. The boy felt too light for his best. Looking up to the star filled skies, Sanji wondered what the hell he had done to deserve something like this.

"Hey, what happened to you? Wasn't you just disposing the garbage?", Usopp called after him when Sanji closed the door behind him with a little difficulty with the body resting limbless in his arms.

The curly haired man turned around to look at his boss when he jumped backwards, dropping the broom to the floor in the process. The tanned face turned slightly pale, and he pointed his finger at the body of the boy.

"What the... the... What in God's name is that, Sanji?", he stuttered, picking up his broom from the wooden floor so that he would have something to cling to so he wouldn't fall over. Usopp's nerves was fragile, that was something Sanji had leaned from several years together with the man, but this time, Sanji himself was a bit shook up. He wanted some kind of answer to who, or what this boy was.

Placing him on the bar counter, Usopp stuck up behind him, looking at the wounded boy over the bartender's shoulder.

"Is he, is he dead?", he whispered, still shaking a bit.

"No you silly", Sanji muttered, sitting down on one of the stools on the customer's side of the counter. Resting his elbows against the edge, he shook his head in disbelief and told the story of what happened in the alley to Usopp. He sat quiet until Sanji finished, listening to all his boss and friend had to say.

"You think he's like that man in the movie? You know, Larry Talbot in 'The Wolf Man'?", Usopp started, now looking amazed at the unconscious street kid. If there was something you ought to know about Usopp Taylor it is that the man's fantasy plays in a special league. His mind could come up with the most amazing stories on the wink of an eye, and it always sounded like he believed them himself. One of his dreams was to get his stories published, and as a road to achieve that goal he searched the book shops in town after old classics and watched as many movies as he could afford.

One of the latest he had seen was "The Wolf Man", a horror picture about a man transforming into a wolf at night. The werewolf concept fascinated Usopp, as one of his favourite novels was "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde". The book didn't touch the subject werewolfs, but general transformation between good and evil, but as Usopp saw it, both were great pieces of art.

"You mean a werewolf?", Sanji asked, voice filled with doubt. Yet, it was a logical explanation, if you could call anything involving men transforming into animals logical.

"Not a werewolf, but... Something!", Usopp sighed, gesturing with his arms. There was something going on, and he was unsure if he wanted to go on. His common sense and high survival instincts told him that this one was bringing trouble, but that tiny spark of adventurer that he held hidden deep within himself, the up-and-coming novelist and author, The Great Usopp, told him that this was the best chance in the world and nothing like this would ever happen to him again.

Neither Usopp or Sanji did get such long time to think of the different options to do in this weird situation as a light twitch was seen in the boy's face and a faint groan escaped his dry lips. Alarmed, Usopp let out a yelp and retook his position behind Sanji, who also backed away a meter from the bar. The bartender had problems believing his employee's wild theory, but still... Better safe than sorry.

He felt Usopp tremble behind him when the boy slowly opened his eyes, eye lids fluttering from the swelling Sanji's kick had caused his face. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he calmed his nerves thinking that if he could beat the brat once, he could do it again. The boy's head turned slowly, his eyes meeting Sanji's. They were the same deep brown colour as the jaguar's had been, a nuance reminding him the depths of the French forests from his childhood.

Those eye held him captive, but he put up a fair fight; piercing the boy with his icy blue. To Sanji's surprise, the other one was the one to avert his gaze first. Closing the brown eyes again, he rested the back of his head against the hard surface. A heavy, dejected sigh filled the room, and when the boy finally spoke it was with a thin and harsh voice.

"What now?", he muttered, winching as if talking hurt him. "What do you want with me?"

Rubbing his forehead, Sanji hook his blond head. This was a ridiculous situation. At least there was something he could do about parts of this all too strange evening. Walking over behind the bar again, he reached for a glass and tapped up water.

"Here. Drink this.", he said, handing the glass to the boy. The brown eyes opened again, looking highly doubtfully at the glass.

"'s it some kind of poison? If so, just say it...", he said. He looked to the side when he shaking sat up, avoiding Sanji's eyes, but still he took the glass and swallowed everything in greedy mouthfuls. Drinking so much water at once made him start to cough, but Sanji took the glass from his unstable hands and watched as he got better. Usopp on the other hand stood still, if you didn't count his shaking knees.

"It is not poison, just plain ol' water.", the blond said, putting the glass away. "I don't have any reason to poison you."

"Neither do you have any reason to give me water, but still you did". The comeback was a clean hit. With a little water in the starved body, he didn't look as much as a ghost as he did before, even if starvation had carved visible tracks into his features.

"I do have a reason.", Sanji answered, while walking to a cupboard in the corner behind the bar. Opening the door, he took out a dirty white apron which didn't only cover his lower half, but his chest too. The fabric still had stains from various courses on it.

"Like what! Nobody wants anything with me to do, unless they want me dead.", the boy argued, looking at Sanji the way he had just stared out the glass of water; with great doubt and carefulness, but still with a fair part of curiosity.

"I could think of a couple things about you I'd like to know.", the bartender said, and nodded to Usopp as a sign for him to help the boy up to his apartment above the bar where the kitchen was. Usopp's lips twitched a little upwards. He still wasn't all too sure however this was a good idea or not.

"Like your name for an instance?", Sanji suggested, taking one shoulder and waited for Usopp to grab the other one. Together the helped the weak boy up the stairs. Halfway up, a faint muttering could be heard.

"Ace."

"Hmm, I'm sorry?", Sanji asked, a bit lost in his thoughts.

"My name is Ace", the boy said as quietly as the first time. Smiling, Sanji nodded.

"See, that wasn't so hard. I am Sanji, and this fellow with the dancing kneecaps is Usopp."

"Hi...", Usopp said, gaining enough confidence to greet the black haired boy without stuttering on the single syllable.

Opening the unlocked door to his apartment, Sanji put Ace in a chair with a new glass of water in front of him.

"Drink more carefully this time, or you'll be sick. I'm going to make you a little something to eat. Haven't have much food in the latest days, have you?"

Not answering his question, Ace rested his chin in his hand, looking curiously at Sanji as if there was something special about the bartender.

"Aren't you afraid?", he finally asked after a questioning gaze from Sanji. Something deep within those brown eyes had problems imagining that all this was true, and thought that he still rested unconscious in the back alley.

"To be honest, I have no freaking idea what to be afraid of. You're too starved to do anything, even if you can transform into a panther, a jaguar or God knows what. I am currently working on a little theory that I slipped and hit my head, because stuff like werewolves does not exist, no matter how much fantasy people like Usopp over there have!"

A short 'hey' was heard from said fantasy abusing man.

Sipping on the water, Ace took long time to think over Sanji's answer. "At least we we agree on something, but I am sorry to say, but you're not dreaming, unless you're dreaming inside my dream, and that's just weird." Shrugging his shoulders, the freckled boy continued:

"What do you want me to say? It was just special effects for a new movie? I was chasing a jaguar escapee and you confused the two of us? I could say that if it made you feel better. But if you want the truth; the most unbelievable truth you'll ever hear, then I can tell you a story, or a legend if you rather have that. Because, I _can_ turn into a freaking jaguar."

Turning on the stove, Sanji put some meat left-overs in a pan along with some fat for the taste. Concentrating on the fizzling sound of the meat quickly frying up in the heat, he kept half an ear on Ace's story which was followed more closely by Usopp who he dared to sit down beside the werecat or whatever, and now was deeply engulfed by the legend of ancient Aztec history.

Sanji turned the meat over to get an even brown surface, and shook his head. This was sure one night to remember.

* * *

Back in 1943, Smoker opened the old door with a nudge from his shoulder, and walked into his dusty apartment. He tossed the keys into a bowl beside the door after he had made sure to lock it from the inside. He still wasn't so sure about what happened on the streets of New York after nightfall.

Stretching his arms high in the air, he let out a heavy sigh. This had only been the first day of many to come. He wasn't really sure what he should think of his work place, but he seemed to have found a friend in Ian, and as a bonus at the end of the day he had walked into a decent bar. He'd make sure to visit that blond bartender once again. Even if the brat didn't seem to enjoy the company of police men, he had a nice time and an even nicer drink.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he walked into his bedroom. As he entered the room a soft meow was heard from on top of his cupboard. Looking over in that direction, he was met by a pair of small green eyes. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he walked over to pet the grey-striped cat that rested on his old shirt he had thrown there yesterday. The cat's neck stretched and a low purr like a tiny engine emitted from within the small body.

Cats were nice animals, that had always been Smoker's opinion. They knew how to wash themselves, to go to the toilet and they didn't need to constantly be watched and taken care of. If Smoker had his way and not his mother's, then a cat was as close to a child he would ever come.

"Jazz, Jazz, what are we gonna do about this city?", Smoker muttered before he stepped out of his uncomfortable dress trousers and crawled into his bed. Drawing the covers over his chin, the man was fast asleep.

* * *

_Watching his master in his sleep Jazz washed his paws with his tongue. This city was sure different than home, but nothing he couldn't get used to. In fact, he was quite curious about all the new smells in this big city. Especially one in particular; the one on his master's fingers. Now Jazz had been around so many cats in the place called Texas that he had since long lost count of them, but this cat smelled different, more powerful and dignified. Before Jazz to fell asleep on Smoker's shirt, he wondered how his master had met this other big cat._

* * *

_A/N: I am sorry for being so vague about the legal stuff in Spandam's document. Laws for secret government organisations are quite hard to find. However, as usual I researched as much as could, hell I checked up what kind of garbage bags they had. But, if you find an error in my facts, please tell me! And, as stated in the previous chapter: the political views ans shiet isn't mine._

_More on Ace's legend in later chapters!_

_I seem to have a little problem with . It keeps turning some letters into Chinese and delete random words or quotation marks. Please tell me if you spot something!  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_They let your dream  
Just to watch them shatter  
You're just a step  
On the boss man's ladder  
__But you got to dream  
Hell, never take it away _

- Nine to Five

_**The Sun's Dark Secret**_

_Some people say curiosity killed the cat, but sometimes it just messes up my life. I remember one time, stalking through the starlit streets when I heard strange sounds from a dumpster, and well, curiosity got the better of me. Even today I am unsure however it was a good or bad thing, but I know for sure that my life hasn't been quite the same since I looked down into that garbage container. On one hand I got a load of trouble and suddenly much less food, but on the other hand, I found myself a brother._

_

* * *

_

Smoker woke up when his alarm clock went of. Slowly opening his eyes he shut them tight quickly again. The sun had risen above the tall buildings of New York and it shone directly through Smoker's dirty window, the bright light hitting him straight in his face. Turning his head around to avoid the beams the man managed to sit up with his feet on the cold floor. He stretched his back with his arms high above his head and heard how the joints in his spine cracked. Standing up, he looked down on his bed. It looked like something that had been found surviving on the battlefield from the Great War. Barely surviving... Like everything else in the run down apartment, including the apartment itself, the bed had seen better days and was just waiting for an retirement at a dump site. Each time he got up from the bed it sounded like it was releasing a thankful sigh that its burden was gone for the night. Rubbing his eyes and killing a yawn, he shook his head. How was he supposed to manage a nine to five work without proper sleep?

And talking about work, Smoker threw a glance at his alarm clock and it indicated that it was high time to put on some clothes , eat breakfast and get going down town to fight another mental battle with Sengoku. During the whole day yesterday the man with the moustache had committed his time to make it clear to Smoker that no matter how they did things back in Texas, this was the main office and here they made things _his _way. It hadn't taken Smoker long time to realize that Sengoku's way was the way that led to more money and other profits for him and his top men. They chose the quickest way to get rid of their problems, and sometimes the quickest one wasn't the path of justice. But like Ian had said, if you wanted justice brought upon "the king's people", then you had to do it yourself. Smoker would never forget the look on Ian's face when he had showed him that photo.

Putting on slacks but not bothering with a shirt just yet, Smoker strolled out into the kitchen in an attempt to find something eatable. When he walked through the door, Jazz began meowing and the striped cat glared between the tired man and his empty feeding bowl. Dragging a hand through short, grey hair, Smoker petted the small head of his only company before he prepared food for the both of them. After a second's thought, he moved Jazz's battered bowl from the corner beside the fridge to the place opposite his own at the small collapsible table. He sat down with a sigh. Jazz was quick to jump upon the table and started his meal while the man just looked at the cat. Jazz was really all he had here in New York, the only one he could call a friend. That was if you didn't count Ian and the strange blond bartender, Black, right? But then again, hadn't that been the plan? To move away from the place where everybody knew everybody and everybody's mothers. His own mother had of course been the worst, always nagging on him to find a nice woman and settle down. At least five kids were also included in the master plan. Smoker had thought that his father's death would calm his mother down, but it was as though the passing away of her husband had been the trigger for increased speed.

"_William, why do you not find yourself a nice wife? My dear William, you are not going to deny your poor old mother some grandchildren to enlighten the autumn of her life, are you? William, are you really leaving dear old Texas for a city like New York. Think of your old mother, will you?"_

He had promised that he would do his best to find a wife while in the city, but his mother had huffed and called the women of New York a word Smoker never wanted to hear his mother utter again. Not that he would actually do much to keep that promise. Women wasn't his main interest here in the world, even if there had been a couple of hem in his life. He had never felt any real strong connection to any of them, never felt that strong love like the kind shared between movie stars in films like _Casablanca. _If he would be true to himself he had only been close to those feelings once. It had been a timid blonde girl with freckles and kind eyes with the name Justine. A couple of years ago he had courted her. She had blushed and taken walks with him, he had thought that the woman wasn't boring him to death like others of her kind, and his mother had been on cloud number nine. And so their life went on, until that day.

There weren't many dark alleys were they lived, but this incident took place in one of the few. After a late night at the police station Smoker had picked up Justine from a sewing junta at one of her friend's house to escort her home. Everything was as normal; they had hooked hands and he was talking to her about the stressful life at the station. He had reports to file when he got home, so he showed her a short cut to her house, one that averted from the bigger street and cut through an alley. Then, in that dark alley, a massive shadow had jumped at them at its white teeth had sparkled in the faint light from the moon and the street lights out on the main road.

At that time, Smoker had been an ordinary police without an idea that something like werewolfs, shape shifters or Facies Commutabilis existed and if anyone had tried to convince him the opposite he would have laughed and told that someone to take it easy with the drinking.

The creature jumped at the two of them. Smoker sensed the attack a second before the animal sunk its teeth into his throat, and to avoid death for him and his lady, he threw himself at Justine. The two of them rolled around on the paved ground, but the man was fast back on his feet. A single meter away from them, a large wolf stood and grinned at them, showing of a frightening set of sharp teeth. It was much larger than the prairie wolfs that sometimes came into the city to plunder dumpsters for the food that the humans threw away; this wolf belonged in a forest up in the deep north.

Smoker's hand moved to his hip and he drew his gun. He looked backwards at Justine who has risen on shaking legs, holding a white hand over her scraped elbow. Her mouth was opened in a silent scream, but Smoker ignored that for the moment. No big injuries could be seen on the woman, and Smoker lifted his gaze back to the wolf, who was ready to jump Justine, muscled paws ready to spring and teeth bared in a snarl. As the wolf took the leap, Smoker fired his gun. She opened her moth even wider and this time, an high pitched scream came out. With a dull thump, the body of the wolf fell to the ground. It yelped and you could see the thick blood sipping out from the base of the neck, but Smoker paid no further attention to the soon-to-be cadaver, but rushed forward to the aid of his lady. During the last moment before the shot rang out the wolf had managed to leave a long scratch from her shoulder down towards her arm. It would probably leave a scar, but it wasn't something that threatened her life right now.

"Are you hurt?", he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

His gray eyes searched contact with her deep brown ones for an answer, but they avoided his gaze. Instead she looked at the side of Smoker's head, towards the dead wolf. Her breath were labored, and she was gasping for air between the sobs. Tearing his eyes from Justine, Smoker looked at the wolf. Only, there were no wolf there anymore. The policeman's eyes widened. He couldn't have been mistaken. There had been a wolf in the alley, it had scratched Justine and he had killed it. Then why were there a dead human man on the ground, shot right where Smoker had hit the animal?

The dead man sported thick gray hair, but a darker nuance then Smoker's ash gray. A harsh stumble covered , the same color as the hair. From what Smoker could distinguish from the odd angle the man's body was spread he managed to look both muscular and starved at the same time. Much like the wolf. Something was indeed very wrong, and Smoker had an headache building up. Behind him Justine breathed a bit calmer and she had stopped screaming, but when he turned to look at her, she stood still as a stone statue, staring at the man's corpse.

His top was to get the lady away from the body, but it was a harder task than he had thought. She stood firmly on the ground as if someone had glued her shoes to the stones she stood on. Her screams lingered in his ears, but he took off his jacket and covered her wound.

"Justine, look at me! We have to get away from here, fast. I have to call the station. Justine!"

She wasn't snapping out of it, but continued to look at the corpse and the blood that started to pour out and color the old bricks on the street red. He waved his fingers in front of her eyes, shook her shoulders, but she wasn't responding to anything he did.

Throwing one last glance at the dead man, he bent down and slid his arms carefully around Justine's slender body. He grabbed a hold and made sure that she wouldn't slip out of Smoker's way too big jacket when he carried her out from the alley. Holding her body this close to his own, he felt her shivering. Her face was pale and her eyes were still staring out into a nothing. Smoker's headache became worse for each echoing step he took towards the streetlights, and Justine's stiff body felt heavy in his arms despite his strong physique. His panicking eyes searched the streets up and down for a phone booth, and he hurried towards it when he located on a mere two hundred meters away.

After placing Justine on a park bench, Smoker dialed the number down to the station and prayed that someone would still be there despite the late hour. The beeping echoed in his ear, but when someone finally picked up the phone on the other end of the line with a sleepy voice and Smoker told him what had happened with a rushing voice, all about the wolf turning into a dead man, hell broke loose.

It wasn't even an half hour before police men surrounded the small alley and the phone booth Smoker stood at. He was once again wearing his gray jacket as the ambulance staff that had joined the commotion had given Justine a warmer blanket and a cup of tea. Yet, when the gray haired man looked at the woman, she hadn't even touched the cup, and the blanket had slid down from one of her shoulders, reveling the bandage wrapped around her arm. Her eyes looked like foggy beads of glass, like they belonged to a porcelain doll instead of a human.

When he moved to walk over to her, a broad shouldered man stepped in between them. He was not wearing a police uniform like the the others, but a black suit accompanied with a pinstriped shirt and a dark green tie. The strangely green color also shaded the man's short kept hair and his mustache. Shadowing his eyes were a broad brimmed fedora. Smoker's whole brain screamed "FBI" at the man.

"Good evening, Mr. Smoker. My name is Henry Woods-Roronoa.", he asked, his voice calm and polite. "If you please could join me for a walk", he continued and showed his hand in a direction away from the other police men.

Smoker eyed the man carefully, a frown on his forehead. He would much rather just make sure that Justine was alright and then head home for those reports he knew he had to finish before the following day, but after looking into Woods-Roronoa's eyes, he nodded and started walking away from the crowd.

"Are you from FBI?", he asked straight-out when they had turned around a street corner. Woods-Roronoa looked amused at him for a second before he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Shaking his head, he opened the ID book and showed off a strange symbol and a card with the man's name, age and other personal information. On the top of the card, thick black letters spelled " _Facies Commutabilis_". The symbol pinned to the small leather case was the same size as his own police badge, but it pictured a golden sun with a smiley face, looking like something that could be printed on the stuff the Mexican Indians tried to sell to tourist.

"I have never heard of that... organization before.", Smoker stated, his eyes suddenly filled with doubt and his headache back on track. Woods-Roronoa's lips tugged and moved into something easiest described as a grin.

"You are not supposed to either, but I guess that some explanation is needed in this. You see, I specialize in a special kind of business. Have you ever heard the term 'therianthropy', Mr. Smoker?", he asked as he placed his ID papers back into his pocket. When his hand withdrew again, it held a pack of Lucky Strike Reds. The mysterious man took out one and lit it with a lighter tucked into the cigarette package. When he offered the package to Smoker, he shook his head and reached into his own pocket to show off a thick cigar. With the twist of his wrist he lit a match and held it close to the tip of the cigar placed in his mouth. After lighting the tobacco and inhaling the first smoke, he dropped the match to the ground and put it out with his boot heel.

"No, I am not familiar with that term, sir. Say, this organization of yours... Does it have anything to do with the police and their work?"

"Well,", Woods-Roronoa said with a slow voice, enjoying his cigarette to the fullest, blowing out smoke rings that sailed up into the dark sky. "I think it's easier for you to start at the beginning. You must have heard about werewolfs, right?"

As Smoker nodded, the man continued.

"I won't say all those stories and fairy tales are true, the things like the fullmoon cycle, you getting turned into a wolf too when you're bitten. But, there are, and now I want you to listen carefully Mr. Smoker, because this is going to be a crucial choice in your life, there are people who can transform into different animals."

The way he presented the idea for Smoker was nonchalant, like he was claiming that the sky was blue, that dogs have four legs or anything equally obvious. But werewolves? Men turning into wild beast, and then back again? Woods-Roronoa could see the clear confusion in Smoker, but just continued to grin.

"What I am telling you is true, Mr. Smoker. You yourself and your female company must have witnessed it this very night. A wolf turning into a man? How _are_ you supposed to explain that _any_ other way? This organization that I work with, _Facies Commutabilis_, is designed to find these animalistic men and study the powers in case that we might discover something that would help the proud nation that is our home."

He paused to let Smoker soak up the information and for himself to take an extra deep breath from the glowing cigarette. The two men had stopped now, standing under the light of a lamp post. Further down the streets, the sound of the police solving the mess the wolf had created echoed, but Smoker couldn't hear any of that. A single word rung in his head, and it drowned out everything else.

"You are telling me that we were attacked by a werewolf? A, excuse me sir, fucking werewolf?", he growled, but Woods-Roronoa didn't flinch.

"I have to make sure that Justine is okay!", he erupted, turning on his heel. He hadn't even taken two steps back towards the crowd before Woods-Roronoa called out his name.

"_William Patrick Smoker!_"

"How do you know my full name?", Smoker asked, his voice still triggered. He had stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

Not stressing out for a second, Woods-Roronoa took one last drag of it and tossed the butt on the ground, but didn't squish what was left of the glowing stick. Instead his dark gaze captured Smoker.

"Because I have researched you. More of that later. First I have to say that the female, Justine Right, is not okay, and I doubt she ever will be. I have seen that face before, so trust me on this one. Some people isn't exactly fit to know that the stuff in horror movies are true, and that young lady is one of those people. I don't want to be offending, but I think you noticed that something wasn't right with her."

It pained Smoker to agree, but he nodded. The action was reflected by Woods-Roronoa as he continued, that smug grin still in place.

"You on the other hand, William Patrick Smoker, you might even be the right material. 'For what?' you wonder, but that would be obvious by now. I have searched the south for new recruits, and you were one of them. Also, seeing what you did tonight, and what you didn't, have convinced me. So, Mr. Smoker", he said. "would you like to work for a secret organization fighting something that the public considers to be nothing but legends?"

Smoker looked at the mans outstretched hand and groaned.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

* * *

The trench coat rested casually on Smoker's shoulder's when he strode down the street towards the office. No clouds hung over the city today, but yet the sky felt ever so far away. The air was foul smelling and the sound of all the city's cars honking was driving Smoker crazier than ever, but he kept the same resolved face. His job had since long stopped being about avenging Justine who know rested on a mental hospital as she had done the five latest years, and more about doing the right thing.

The man named Henry Woods-Roronoa had proved to be much more important than he had looked, which the new recruit had discovered a couple of days later. Smoker remembered exactly how he had reacted, screaming at his new captain when he had found out that the green haired man in the fedora was the boss of the whole werewolf organization. They had worked together for a year or two before Woods-Roronoa was needed on other places. Even if he hadn't known him that good, the news about his death two years ago had hit Smoker. There was no need to mention that the gray haired man would pay good to have his former boss replacing the current Sengoku.

Looking over his shoulder, he shook his head as he entered the dark hallway heading to the secret office. Sengoku wasn't someone who you messed with, but Smoker was pretty sure that he wasn't either. He had a work to do, a work taught to him by Woods-Roronoa, and that needed to be done in the right way, for justice's sake!

When he walked into the office the white shirted men looked up at him, but at soon as they noticed whom it was, they returned to their work and turned their backs against him to create a cold wall. Ignoring them, Smoker hung his trench coat on a hook by the door and walked to his desk. Sinking into his seat with a great sigh, he massaged his temples with closed eyes. It didn't seem as if Sengoku had arrived yet, but Smoker heard rushed footsteps running all over the place that didn't fit in to any of the stiff characters that filled this office.

He opened his tired eyes and caught the sight of a petite woman with black hair and purple framed glasses running back and forth between the different men and desks, constantly handing out and receiving pieces of paper. Smoker followed her with his eyes as she stressed back and forth, and when her high heels ticketitacked his way, she noticed his stare, but neither of them withdrew.

"Officer Smoker, I presume?", she asked and looked down on the paper in the top of her pile. When he nodded, she added: "Follow me."

Quirking an eyebrow, Smoker rose slowly from his chair and opened his mouth to ask her something, but she silenced him with a motion indicating him to follow her deeper into the parts of the office he didn't have the chance and apparently not the authority to visit yesterday. She closed the door behind them and made sure that the knob was turned and the key turned into locked status.

"I am Tashigi Sanders, somewhat of a secretary here. If you need anything, just ask me, and I'll see if I can get it for you.", she smiled and reached out her hand for Smoker to shake. Her hand was small in his fist, but the skin was soft and warm, much like her smile.

"William Smoker, but I guess you know that already.", he answered, squeezing the small hand gently before he let go of it and looked around in the brightly lit room. "But, what is this place? And, excuse my language miss, but what the hell is _that_?"

There weren't much in the room, but the things that did occupy the floor place was strange machines wired together with a control panel filled with buttons and levers in bright colors. Tubes and strings attached the different machines, and there were several handcuffs and chains hanging down from iron bars. I the middle, fastened to a dozen charges and wires was a small platform were a golden necklace of some kind rested. At the far end a metallic box device big enough to fit a grown man, and if Smoker wasn't wrong, that was also the purpose of it, but he wasn't going to be the one going into details about the invention. To be honest, the machines did look pretty frightening to Smoker.

Looking back at Tashigi, her attention had left him for the favor of two young shirt wearing med carrying a large box made out of pine wood between them. Printed on the light wood were big red letters; _top secret_. Judging by their shaking muscles and red faces, Smoker guessed that the box's contents was rather heavy. Like guiding a car into a parking space, the woman showed the men were to place the crate; just beside the metal box Smoker had wondered about just three seconds ago.

"If you are sensitive, I suggests that you look away.", she smiled and nodded her head at him, like he was a little child. The gray haired man huffed at her, and gathered all his manly pride. There had too be much to weaken William Smoker, secret f-ing agent. He growled that of course would he watch, but not until he had searched his pockets and lit his cigar. With folded arms crossed over his broad chest, cigar between his lips and a scowl in its right place he watched as one of the men used a crowbar to pry the box open.

The stench was overwhelming, but Smoker managed to keep a straight face behind his small cloud of cigar smoke. He was glad that he'd lit the Cuban up. The two men's faces was turning from the hard red to a slightly paler look, but Tashigi stood firmly and watched them. Looking at her face, Smoker got a sudden feeling that the same presence as his mother was in the room.

The pine wood was cracking up, splints flying to the floor. When one of the men looked inside, he quickly withdrew and stared at Tashigi.

"What the hell is that?"

"That", she said as the walls of the box slammed to the floor to revile a couple of days old corpse that seemed to have traveled a distance in the box. " _was_ a Mr. Jack Bellamy."

Smiling at Smoker, she ordered the men to put the dead man in the metal box. The men looked doubtfully at the rotten former human, but compelled. Taking a deep breath each, they heaved him up and closed the lid securely with all locks possible.

"Since you are new here at the main office, Mr. Smoker, I would like to show you what our scientists have invented not a year ago. I have faith in the fact that you know that we are working with Therianthropists, shape shifters. And so far, we have killed most of them captured a few, but never done anything really but, well, trying to make them extinct. That was until this machine was invented."

Taking a long drag on his cigar, Smoker nodded. His stomach wasn't all too happy with this situation, but he was intrigued, he couldn't deny that.

"What does it do then?"

"This darling here", she said as she started to turn switches, pull levers and finally pushing a grand red button. "allows us to take their powers and put it into that tiny piece of jewelery there, so we ordinary humans can use it. Imagine that, Mr. Smoker. A shape shifting police, secret service, or even an army. Imagine that, Mr. Smoker."

And Smoker did.

* * *

With his hat riding low on his forehead, he watched the young secretary rush in to get the new recruit, Smoker, and not long after they had entered the locked door, he heard the back door slam too. The body was in the machine. The button was soon to be pressed. The power was soon transferred. And that meant, soon, the medallion was finished for him to steal. His father had once been the boss here, but now his son was hardly welcome anymore. Not that he cared too much. He had figured that if he stole the medallion, and didn't get the blame, then he could live without this stupid department.

Grinning, Zoro Roronoa made all kinds of plans for the future he had ahead for himself.

* * *

_Sniffing in the air, I felt nothing but the usual odor this city wore. I called out the fox's name, and soon, about a big grin and a crushing hug later, my back was on the cold asphalt ground, but I really could care less. Opening my backpack, I am forgotten for a second as my so called brother attacks the stolen meat. I don't know why I do this, caring and taking care of another person. I could call it an instinct to look out for my own, after all, there is not many left of us in this world, not if you count the real ones, but I think I would like to say that it's actually a form of love, something I never thought I would feel._


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, it's just another night_

_And another round of screaming cat fights_

_What's the thing they're fighting over now?_

_And is it worth the ticket price?_

- Cat fight

_**The Sun's Dark Secret**_

_It is hard to remember everything my father told me before he went away and eventually ended up getting killed. The story was about the Spanish soldiers coming to my ancestor's home to plunder and murder. I have read that in the history books too, the short time I did go to school. Conquistador, that's what the Spaniards had been called in Europe. "Conqueror". My great-great-great-something-grandfather had surely called them something else. The most likely was "__saqra__". Devil. That is of course a bit ironic, as that is the most usual word I hear when people talk about me._

* * *

Zoro walked down the narrow stairs and was met by a distinct smell of tobacco and the sounds of glass clinking together. He walked through the thin layer of smoke that had gathered just under the ceiling, aiming for one of the free chairs at the bar he had spotted. The thermostat must be on a high temperature, he thought as he removed the leather bomber jacket with the authentic lamb wool collar. Great jacket, but way too hot sometimes.

He kept the hat on, as it served as a cover for the many peculiar stares from others his hair colour seemed to enhance. A blond, skinny man tiptoed over to him, but before the young man had any chance to ask Zoro anything, he grunted:

"Give me something strong, but not too expensive."

Before the bartender turned around, Zoro saw the roll of his eyes and a slight shake of his head, and his eyes narrowed. The green haired runaway just wanted to celebrate his success, without some skinny blond who by all means looked like he was going to break in two parts if he tried to lift anything heavier than a crate of blond man seemed to be of the same opinion as he huffed when he placed a shot glass with a strong smelling red liquid in front of him. Good.

Fingering on his necklace, Zoro smiled over the edge of the shot glass. It had been much danger, trouble, bribing, corruption, some good old-fashion threats to achieve the precious jewellery, but he could easily say that it was worth it. The sun god of the Inca people, depicted in pure gold and its none saying face looked up at him from his palm and he felt the power it held. He let his fingertips touch the gold carving and he smiled and wondered if the rest of the department was looking country up and country down after it. They wouldn't look at his scapegoat with kind eyes, that was for sure. But, Zoro added to himself with a shrug, better them than me.

He felt a strong gaze drilling into his neck, and by instinct he tucked the necklace on the inside of his collar thus hiding it from stranger's eyes. When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes were met by a dark gaze that could only be described as burning. In the very corner of the room, a tanned man sat on the floor, leaning back on the wall. His face was partially covered by an outrageous orange hat, but the angle allowed him to see the flaming eyes and a soft smirk on the man's lips. His skin colour and the strands of black hair waved down from the man's scalp was an unusual sight in such a classy bar. The smirk made Zoro feel uneasy, but he responded to the man with an at least equally grim grin. The two men resembled two dogs showing their teeth in a quiet competition, proving that two could play the same game.

Still smirking, the black haired kid raised his eye brows and pulled down the brim of his hat. Zoro turned around again and raised his glass to his lips. The muscular man swallowed down a mouthful of the liquor with a dire feeling in his stomach that the foreign man knew a tad too much. Time to get to business.

Emptying the glass, he rose from the high bar chair and picked up the metal tube that had stood resting against his chair and walked towards the door. On his way, he let his eyes fall on the boy and with a slight, almost invisible, nod with his head he pointed at the door.

_Come and get me if you can._

He turned his head and reached for the door handle. If the kid was what he looked like he would have seen the gesture. As he opened the door he heard a voice:

"I'm going out a bit, mister." Even with the last honorific added it sounded like the cocky voice wouldn't listen to any objections from the blond bartender. He didn't want to turn around, but in his heart, he knew that it had been the man in the corner who had said it.

After he had left the bar, he turned on his heal and rushed out of sight into a back street to avoid being seen by the other man. Constantly keeping an eye on what he left behind, Zoro continued his rush down the dark alley. His hand grazed over the cold metal tube and he felt the weight from its contents. Whatever the black haired one was up to, he would find a surprise in Zoro.

Too busy with what was behind him and what he would do with his follower, he felt his body slam into something. He backed away a metre, surprised at finding nothing in the spot where he had collided. Looking around, he saw nothing but mere darkness. As a reflex, he unbuttoned the buckle holding the case and drew out a shiny katana. He was glad that he stood in a dark alley where no unwanted eyes could see him.

"I guessed it was something like this" The same voice as he had heard in the bar rang out behind him. Zoro spun around and saw once again nothing.

"Up here, silly...", the voice sang, and Zoro looked up along the brick walls. On the window sill on the second floor, the dark haired man sat and swung his legs. In his right hand, he held the sun necklace and swung it in the same pace as his legs, like a pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth.

Feeling on the inside of his collar with the hand not busy with the metal weapon, Zoro cursed at finding nothing there. How had the kid been able to rip it from his neck without him noticing it?

"What the hell are you doing?", he shouted upwards. A heavy metallic sound echoed through the alley as Zoro dropped the case. In his hands he held three long Japanese swords, one drawn and pointing upwards.

"Give that back.", the green haired man said between his teeth, growling. He hated to be outsmarted even if it didn't happen all too often. Usually it ended up with somebody lying on the ground with a mortal wound and Zoro who walked away, complaining about how the blood was hard to wash away from his clothes.

"You have this.", the Latino man said, eyes half lid. "and unless you are a very lucky and very stupid thief..."

Zoro growled at the words, but the man on the window sill continued.

"...that means you know more than you ought to know. You work for the government, right?" The word 'government' was filled with hate and rage when the man pronounced it. The man's upper lip withdrew and he showed his teeth and what sounded like a faint snarling rolled from his throat. Usually, anyone who did so would look ridiculous, but the crouched man had something in his eyes that made Zoro grip the hilt of his katana tighter.

"I did.", was Zoro's monotone answer. He had to get that necklace back, no matter what. Used to fighting and not arguing, he was on his way towards frustration. He wanted to feel the adrenaline pump as it always did during fights, but the other man sat still and dangled with his legs, Back and forth, back and forth.

"Did?" The man sounded doubtful and he took the necklace to look closer at it. His fingertips grazed it and he turned it around, face side down. He squinted his eyes to see in the poor light. It looked as if he had more trouble reading than just the light; the man moved his lips to silently form the word written in small, small letters on the back side.

"Chakuy Allqu. You know what it means?", he finally managed to pronounce. Zoro shook his head, still annoyed at the man.

"I don't know, but I want it back. Now!" He unshed another sword and fastened the sheath in his belt. He let the remaining third sword stay in its case for the time being.

"I have another question. The**-**ri**-**an**-**thro**-**py. You know what that is?" The grim smile was back onto his face, and the man's features started to change. During a few seconds, Zoro could positively _see_ how the teeth in his grinning mouth started to grow longer and pointier. The black strands of hair that was before limited to his scalp started growing all over his body, and at the same time, getting shorter.

Therianthropy. He _did_ know the meaning of the word, and he did know what it meant to him. Part human – part beast; shape shifting.

By the time that there was no man on the window sill anymore, but a huge cat animal instead, Zoro had drawn his precious third sword and placed it in his mouth, grinning at the prospects of a thrilling fight.

The black cat sprung from the window sill and flew over Zoro's head. Without a sound it landed, and turned around on one pawn. It grinned, and as Zoro met his gaze, he could see the black haired man's burning eyes in the jaguar's face. The cat's muscles tensed and Zoro threw himself to the side, towards the wall as he jumped towards the green haired man. Placing the sole of one of his shoes on the brick wall and used it as a measure to heave him forward in an attack.

The cat had landed a meter away and had turned its head, staring at Zoro. The man angled the sword ever so slightly and rushed forward with his eyes fixed on his goal. A fast swing with the sword in his right hand and what would be his equal to upper cut with the left one, sent to slice through the black fur and into the body of the big cat. He jumped at the jaguar, following his planned pattern, but only hitting thin air. It seemed as the big cat hadn't moved at all where he stood a few steps away with the Cheshire cat's smile plastered on his face. Zoro growled with the sword between his teeth and made another attack, but it was as successful as the last time.

He wasn't even near hitting the black jaguar; it was only playing with him like a house cat playing with a fierce mouse. Only with all his senses trimmed to the top he could detect the moving of the swift paws and the fearsome fangs. The cat was fast and its shinny, black fur melted into the shadows, sometimes confusing Zoro where he had his enemy.

Several times he felt a ever so faint blow of wind and threw himself in any other direction than the wind blow. Looking up then, he would see a pawn with drawn, sharp claws and two lines of bright, white teeth. The man gave all he had in every attack, but none of them hit the cat as it moved away, sometimes mere millimeters.

In the heat of the fight, Zoro began to realize who he was fighting. The new general from the department he had been working for before had told everyone there about New York's most wanted person, or at least his most wanted person. The Inca had believed in a son of the sun god Tezcatlipoca, a son with the powers of the night and the shape of a jaguar.

"You are the dark prince.", Zoro said under his breath, following a strange dance of movements, avoiding the nonchalant moving of the jaguar. The gaze he got from the cat needed no further confirmation to his statement. Zoro swallowed down the saliva that had created in the cave of his mouth.

"You are the son of that Roger." Ducking yet another swing from a pawn, Zoro crouched down on his knees and leaned forward. He pushed through the air close to the ground, but his aiming towards the soft belly of the cat was thrown of completely when the black animal took a step to the side, now watching him tensely as he spoke of something concerning him.

"I…", Zoro said as he turned around. He now stood tall again, the katana in his right hand rose as an extension of an index finger, pointing at his opponent. "I saw your father die. I saw my father order the shot."

For the first time during their fight, the jaguar stood completely still and Zoro sported forward and swung down his katana, aiming for the neck of the animal. Too late, the jaguar backed away, and finally, Zoro felt the blade running through flesh. The sensation didn't last long, and Zoro spun 360 degrees, once again facing the jaguar. Cursing, Zoro noticed that he had only hit the ear of the black cat, successfully tearing the round ear apart, but not doing anymore injury.

The jaguar took a step back into the shadows, the first sign of retreating he had shown that evening. A strange movement was seen during a half of a second, as if the jaguar was prancing and a moment later, the feline cat was once again a thin boy with one of his bracers hanging down along his leg.

"You saw Roger die? _Your _father killed my father?", he said. To Zoro's surprise, his voice didn't tremble for one second but it kept his cocky tone. He had never heard a child calling his father's name with such a hateful voice. This boy was strange in more than one way, that was for sure.

"I have watched many persons die. He was one of them." Zoro's answer was quick, and his body was still tense. In his opinion, this fight was far from over and this conversation was only a slight delay of the grand finale.

"And you said you worked for the government?", the man asked rhetorically, the smile slowly returning to his lips.

"Why?", Zoro asked as he removed the white hilted katana from his mouth. He was still suspicious about the other man, but he would have at least a half seconds advantage if the man decided to attack him in the shape of a jaguar again. At least he didn't look like too big of a threat in human form.

The boy walked slowly forward, and Zoro had to admit that he had kept the cat's grace. The closer the black haired shapeshifter came to Zoro, the more the older man's muscles tensed. He had no idea what the other one was after, but he himself was thrilled to continue the fight. No matter how many steps he took in Zoro's direction, Zoro didn't take a single one backwards. He stood his grounds.

"Why indeed.", the boy finally said. "Why did you leave the government? And if you don't work there anymore, then why do you have this?", he asked as he plowed his hand into his pocket and withdrew the golden amulet. His lean fingers played with it for a second before he turned his gaze back to the battle ready Zoro. "As far as I know, only special trained agents gets these."

Relaxing ever so little, Zoro answered. "Only special agents do. I told you I used to work there, boy." A grin flashed by on the man's face, but it was soon reflected on the other one's too.

"And you're telling me this was your retirement gift?"

"I could tell you that after my father died, the department went to hell and I wanted out. Well, I brought this along when I left, so you could say it was an involuntary retirement gift."

The aura the raven emitted had changed drastically. Gone were the furious jaguar, and here was the carefree slacker talking to Zoro like they hadn't tried to kill each other mere minutes ago. Or Zoro had at least tried to slay him; he still had a feeling that the kid was just playing with him.

"You stole it? Maaan, that is actually kinda cool actually.", he laughed and his freckled face lite up. "So let me get this straight; you and your father worked there before, you as a agent type and he as the boss. He killed my father, then he died and you quit, but not until you stole this?"

"And blamed someone else.", Zoro muttered, still eager to continue the fight. "What is all this to you?"

"An interesting story about an interesting man. And you don't find those everywhere. But I need to ask you one final question." Finally the feline's rage and blood lust shone through the human hideout and the raven's body tensed and looked just like it had done when he changed his appearance up on the window sill earlier. He was ready to attack Zoro any second.

"What do you plan on doing with your powers?", he asked behind his white teeth.

"I...", Zoro paused. "This war killed half of my family, and I don't plan to let the department add fuel to a fire already raging all over the world with shape shifting soldiers. And I need it to save my mother." It was hard words to utter, but judging by the look in the black haired boy's eyes, the truth had been the right thing.

Diverting his focus from Zoro to the medallion, he caressed the cold metal and his fingertips followed the carved lines. Still with his eyes fixed on the jewelery, he spoke with soft words.

"There is a change going on now. I don't know if you have heard anything about it, but I doubt it. Something that shouldn't be disturbed is woken up with a shock."

Zoro's breathing calmed when he heard the boy talk. He might look small and a bit scrawly, but when he spoke, you could hear why he bore the epithet 'Dark prince'. There was authority and respect in his voice, along with ancient powers, which made his message even worse.

"There's going to be a battle. Join me.", he said, and took a last look at the medallion before he threw it over to Zoro. The swordsman was caught by surprise; he never expected the kid to give up his loot that easily. He hardly had the time to catch it before the priceless piece fell to the ground.

"Wha... why?", he stuttered as he hanged it around his neck and tucked the medallion inside the collar of his sweat covered shirt.

"I like your fighting style, and you seem like a fairly nice guy. And you haven't stuck one of those fancy swords through my stomach yet, even though you're craving for a fight. Seems like you have some kind of honor.", he grinned, pulling up the one of his braces that still hung along his leg. He took one step forward and extended his dirty hand, waiting for Zoro to make the next move.

The green haired man was confused, and had no idea what to make of the situation. First the raven steals his token, tries to kill him (he thinks), then suddenly everything gets turned around, he gets the medallion back and now he wants to be friends all of a sudden. His temples were pounding, and he had trouble deciding what to do. Sheeting his swords, he still didn't take the steps forward to meet the brat.

"What do you want me to do?" Asking the question, different scenarios played in Zoro's head. "I have goals I need to pursuit, and I won't let you stand in the way for them. Nor will I bow down to you and call you 'your majesty'."

"No worries, you can call me Ace. And as for the other part; as you know, your department has done a great job hunting us down and well, slaying us. All I ask is for some help in a fight, and as far as I can say, you like those. Will you postpone your fight with me in exchange for a much greater one?"

From the angle he stood in, the shadows of the alley hid parts of his face, but his grin shone bright along with his dark brown eyes. Confident, yet careful, Zoro closed the space between them and shook Ace's hand. It was smaller than his, but far from weak.

"And you won't stab me in my back because of what happened with your father?" Zoro looked doubtfully at Ace. Honor and revenge had always been a big part of his upbringing.

"The old man had it coming. So what if your _father _killed my _father._ Besides, it would have been worse if it had been you who killed me. I wouldn't forget that so soon.", he laughed, patting Zoro's bruised back.

Shaking his head, Zoro thought for himself that Ace appeared stranger and stranger for every word that jumped from his mouth.

"I need a another drink before I go looking for a place to crash. Don't think they'd be too happy to let me keep my dorm room.", he muttered, more to himself than to Ace. Because he really needed a drink right now.

They walked out of the alley together, and when Ace turned around the corner, Zoro followed him, but before they entered the basement bar again, the green haired man stopped in his tracks and nudged the raven's shoulder.

"Don't tell _anyone_, and I won't tell anyone. Deal?", he offered.

"Sure", Ace shrugged and turned the door knob. Descending the stairs, Zoro could hear someone yelling down there.

"Pooortgas!"

Entering the bar, the first thing he saw was a furious blond standing in front of the bar counter instead of behind it. His shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows, his black vest was spot free, as was his white waist apron, but his cheeks were fired up, and his visible blue eye pierced Ace.

"Where the hell did you go? Usopp's away tonight, and you slipped out as some fucker bails on the tab. How am I supposed to..."

Zoro never got to hear what the bartender was supposed to do as the blond caught sight of him. When he had snarled about 'the fucker who bailed on his tab', Zoro had suddenly remembered something, and was just about to open his mouth to say that he was to pay now when a hard shoe connected with his temple and sent him flying into the wooden crates that stood in the corner of the room.

The first thing Zoro checked when he had found his vision again was so that his precious swords was alright inside their tube, and the second thing was so that the medallion was still safely tucked away under his clothing. Losing it once today was more than enough. But the third thing that caught Zoro's focus was the blond.

He still looked like Zoro could snap him in half over his knee, but that kick... that kick was great if you were humble. Fucking amazing power and speed was a better definition. Those long legs wasn't just for show, that was for sure... His head still hurt like hell, and bells were echoing.

"Get up so I can beat the crap out of you!", the bartender growled, his right knee lifted with his body weight supported by his steady left foot. Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Zoro sighed. It wasn't like he complained, but going from one fight to another? And he wasn't too keen on getting the blame for the blond's corps, especially as there was witnesses in the bar.

"It's cool, Sanji. He's with me."

Both Sanji and Zoro turned around, looking at Ace who had seated himself on top of the bar counter, next to a fairly irritated gray haired man and was currently grinning like the mad man Zoro had judged he was.

"He's going to be renting the empty room next to mine, so you can put it on his tab."

There was a dire silence that didn't survive very long as both the green haired man and the blond mutually uttered a surprised "What?"

* * *

The children gathered around him was too caught up in the story the man was telling them to notice that a new guest had joined their crowd of listeners, but the story teller shone up like a star when he saw the pale woman and her trusted chaperon. His voice stuttered for a second, but soon he focused back on his story.

"And then the Little Red Riding Hood decided that she needed to protect her friends Goldilocks and Puss in Boots if the Big, Bad Wolf would ever come back, so she went to the man that had created another of her dear friends, Pinocchio, and asked the man:

'Dear Sir, can't you craft a hero's mask for me?'

And he did. The hero's mask was glorious, in the shape of the shining sun and colored with real gold! The Little Red Riding Hood said 'Thanks!' very many times to the man!"

Usopp took a short break from the story. He had caught the attention of every one in the Fairytale Corner of New York's Public Library, so he awarded himself with another stolen look at Kaya, the pale woman ho had entered in the end of yet one of his made up fairy tales. She was really beautiful...

"Mr. Usopp!", one of the kids complained and pulled at the leg of his worn trousers. "What happened then?"

The black man smiled at the kid and started telling again, but not letting go of Kaya with his gaze.

"When the hero mask was ready the Little Red Riding Hood went to her friend who lived deep into the forest! Oh, no, it wasn't a scary forest, so you don't need to be scared!", he laughed, but continued.

"It was a nice forest, and in this nice forest a nice man lived bearing the name of Robin Hood! Does any of you know what Robin Hood does?", he asked the young audience.

When one girl reached up her hand and answered archery, Usopp nodded and ruffled her hair.

"Yes, the Little Red Riding Hood wanted Robin Hood to teach her archery, but instead of using a bow and arrow, she used a big, big, big, big slingshot!" For every 'big' Usopp extended his hands to show how gigantic this slingshot really was.

"And soon the Little Red Riding Hood was an expert at using the slingshot, and she knew, that if the Big, Bad Wolf would ever return, she could defend her dearest friends. The End!"

A chorus of 'Awww's, 'Thank you for the story, Mr. Usopp!'s and 'See you next week, Mr. Usopp!'s echoed as the kids started walking away from the Fairytale Corner. At last only the woman Kaya and her chaperon named Merry remained seated on the worn out leather sofas, Usopp still placed in the Storyteller's Chair of Honor.

"It was a very nice story, Mr. Usopp. I enjoyed it very much.", Kaya said and managed a weak smile. Across her white cheeks, a soft pink color spread and it was soon on Usopp's face too.

"I made it for you. Like I always do, Miss Campbell.", he stuttered, his mighty storytelling voice suddenly gone. Mere meters separated the two youngsters, but every word exchanged between them was another brick added to the wall between them. Something Merry pointed at with a polite cough.

The chaperon rose and offered his hand to Kaya. "We better get you home before it gets too dark, miss."

A strained smile showed on Kaya's lips as she nodded and brushed of her white dress. He took Merry's hand and rose. Just as she was about to turn and leave the Fairytale Corner, she looked into Usopp's big eyes, and a real smile spread over her face.

"I look forward to meeting you soon again, Mr. Usopp."

He bowed and smiled back at her. "I will always be there!", he promised, and even if Merry huffed, all of them knew it was true. And then she was gone once again.

The man sighed as he strolled over to the main counter with his hands shuffled deep into his pockets. The young trainee librarian looked up from the medical book he was plowing through when Usopp rested his chin in his palms with elbows spread on the shiny counter.

"Hey, Usopp, what's the matter?", he asked as he opened the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out a brown envelope with Usopp's name written on it with ink. "I have the pay for tonight here, so why are you so blue? I love... I mean, the kids love your stories! I can't understand how you manage to come up with new stories every time!"

Taking the envelope and putting it into his pocket he managed a smile towards the young boy.

"Nothing is wrong, Chopper. It' just.. That sometimes, inspiration only gets so good when you can't really get to the very source of it...", he said as he looked at the figure in the white dress outside the heavy glass door as she vanished from his sight.

* * *

_Night had fallen over the city once again, and I enjoyed the black sky from the top of the house I had called home the last two years. Life does that sometimes; changes. Sometimes the changes are small and temporary, like a storm or a summer, but sometimes they last. Like a home, or a friend. Today a change was made, and I have no idea if it's temporary, or if it's going to last, but I really hope that it withstands the years. I would really love another friend._

* * *

_Uhm, yeah. Should I say something here? I think it's best for my own safety if I don't say much. Anyway, this was written about a year ago so old style. Let's hope the next chapter comes quicker and is better. Peace out and stuff._


End file.
